


A Temporary Euphoria

by rueandvalerie



Category: Who Killed Markiplier? (Web Series)
Genre: Dark, Graphic Depiction of Suicide, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Post-Who Killed Markiplier?, Pre-Who Killed Markiplier?, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, and, can be interpreted as, vent - Freeform, vent fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:01:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24122521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rueandvalerie/pseuds/rueandvalerie
Summary: Even if The Actor knew by now that his attempts were futile, it didn’t stop him from repeating the same old cycle night after night. Nothing did.- - -Super short vent fic starring everyone’s favorite hero at his worst.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	A Temporary Euphoria

**Author's Note:**

> I should preface this by saying I’m safe, since this supposed to be a vent fic and honestly looking back it may be concerning. I just thought it would be helpful getting all my thoughts out of my head, and I’ve been meaning to write about Actor for ages. Soooo this is a dark one. Enjoy? I guess?
> 
> Also this is sort of inspired by ‘The Edge of Sleep,’ which is an audio drama that Mark did and I highly recommend-

Tearing. Aching. Bleeding.

Mark could see nothing but the streaks of dark red oozing from his wounds as he just kept going deeper. Maybe if he went deep enough, they wouldn’t be able to heal over. Maybe the pain would finally stop.

He heaved a dry sob, his frame trembling from blood loss as he curled up on the floor of his empty, barren manor. He had no one. No one but the voices that chanted and hollered for his demise. So why try to fight it anymore when they begged for him to end it all?

His nails and the knife caught on some other part of his muscles and veins, and he cried out, the blade clattering to the floor once he lost the will to keep digging. He had lost the will to do anything at all anymore other than mourn. Mourn himself. Mourn his family. His friends. It was all his fault, what happened- this was just a way to even the scoreboard.

Of course he knew it wouldn’t last. The momentary fading of consciousness that teased a coming death. The cuts and stabs and gauges always healed over and left nasty scars by morning, no matter how hard or how deep he tore. No matter how many times he picked at or reopened the old wounds. No matter the weapon. All it did these days was cause him pain. 

He should know better by now than to keep trying, but maybe he was simply addicted to it. Maybe he’d gone insane. It wouldn’t be surprising to anyone, even him.

The small glimmer of hope that it may all be over soon was nothing but euphoria, even if deep down he knew it was false. The forced ignorance could explain the need to try again. It could explain the constant itch that was only satisfied by plunging a knife into his heart, or his wrists, or his throat. Or by aiming a gun at his temple. Maybe, just maybe it would work this time, and the guilt and trauma would finally fade along with all of his memories of this place. Maybe this time, he could win.

Of course, just like Yesterday, he woke up in bed as the sun rose. The pool of blood left around him had by now become stagnant, and putrefying.

And for him, after all he’d been through... it felt like home.


End file.
